The Girl With the Painted Face by Gabrielle Kimm

With Colombina’s hand firmly in his, Arlecchino walks down to the front of the stage. Gazing out at the audience, he says, ‘ Someone out there is wearing a piece of guilty knowledge tucked away inside his doublet. It’s curled like a snake against the skin of his chest. That little snake wriggles and writhes from time to time – most often when it hears mention of… certain events. Important events for the person inside whose doublet it is nestling. It must be wriggling now, don’t you think, signori and signore? ’Wooden batocchio tucked under his arm, Arlecchino raises his hands and wiggles his fingers. ‘ Inside somebody’s shirt? When it’s just been listening to a tale of such misadventure as our lovely Colombina has been telling you? Now – the trouble with snakes is… if you’re not careful, they bite. It might not be just one person, either – that’s the thing about guilt. It’s infectious…’ Arlecchino snatches a look at Colombina; then, turning away, he puts a hand around the side of his mouth as though to keep his next loudly hissed utterance from her . ‘… like the pox. ’The audience laughs, but the laugh dies fast, as Arlecchino points out at them again, and says in a ringing voice,‘ One person did this terrible thing. One person – and he might be standing right next to you now, this very minute – one person picked up a dirty great candlestick and whacked a man on the back of the head with it – and killed him. ’He stands silent for a moment, staring out at the audience. ‘ This city’s buzzing with the news, is it not? Somebody made that choice and now a man is dead. That somebody’s snake is probably particularly cold and slithery, and it most likely nips him quite often – just where it hurts most – when he’s least expecting it. But he won’t be alone: mark my words. There’ll be others too, with their own little vipers – perhaps someone who saw and hasn’t said. Someone who’s been told and is too scared to speak out. Someone who’s done the like before, themselves, and won’t risk exposure. They’ll all have their own wrigglers inside their shirts. You see if I’m not right. ’

Sofia cannot take her eyes from him. She stares and stares at him as he strides right to the front of the stage, pulls out his wooden bat, crouches down on his heels and points it at a man near the front of the crowd. ‘ What about you, signore? Got a wriggler? Or you, signora, tucked down inside that very lovely bodice…’ Putting a hand down to the trestle floor, he leans out, craning his neck towards an amply bosomed woman to his left. ‘ A chilly little wriggler right down in there? ’He snorts, then licks his lips, sketching the outline of the woman’s generous proportions with his hands. ‘ Ha! Can’t imagine that one will want to come out very often. ’A snickering laugh trickles around the audience. ‘ Laugh if you will ,’ Arlecchino says now, straightening, scowling and pointing the bat again, ‘ But if you’re one of those people – the people who know, and won’t say; the people who suspect but daren’t admit – then expect your writhing little worm of guilt to grow and swell and become more and more of a nuisance to you. Because the only thing that gets rid of a guilt-wriggler is an admission. You think about it .’

There is a clatter of footsteps on the stage behind them. Sofia turns, knowing full well that it will be Flaminio Scala, striding out as planned in his ridiculous long-nosed mask. Arlecchino grabs her hand. ‘ Quick! ’ he says. ‘ We have to go! We don’t want to be caught here by that pompous old windbag – we’ll never get away! ’ Turning back to the audience, he says, ‘ Don’t forget what I said – it’ll only get bigger and colder and wrigglier and end up by strangling you! ’ Then, with Sofia’s fingers laced through his, he runs across the stage and pushes his way through the gap in the backcloth.
     
    Beppe cannot